Dear reader,
Finished! At last! Finished! The story is finished, and my soul has gone out into it. That is all. It is nothing worth mentioning.
I hope you enjoyed the adventures of the Gilbert & Sullivan gang.
If you're stumbling across this for the first time, welcome! Here's a summary of what the stories are about, along with links to the start of each.
Hilarity Ensues
Inspired by a dream a friend of mine had. The aim was to incorporate all of the silly ideas friends of mine had about settings for shows- In space! On fire! On ice! With turnips! (not a clue) With a spoon! (don't ask).
Things I learnt in writing it: Planning is good. Attempting to insert an overarching story arc when half of it has already been 'published' is not.
Misplaced
This was inspired by a conversation with my housemates at the time on what would happen if we and our friends were stranded on a desert island. I've never seen Lost and have only read extracts of Lord of the flies but influences from both somehow got in, as well as a slight Narnian element.
Things I learnt in writing it: Having too many characters and then creating a duplicate version of each is confusing, for the author and the audience. Although it does give you freedom to be nasty and still have a happy(ish) ending.
Fantom of the operetta
Once the character of 'Future James' was created while on holiday, time travel seemed the natural follow up to space travel and alternative dimensions. And what would a group of G&S fans do with a time machine if not go looking for Thespis? There's also visible Discworld influence, although I didn't realise that till late on in writing it.
Things I learnt in writing it: Aargh time travel is a pain to write if you are a pedant and want a plot that holds water with no obvious flaws. Aargh.
Thursday, 31 January 2013
Fantom Epilogue 2
Epilogue part 2.
“Try we lifelong we will never
Straighten out life’s tangled skein,
Why should we, in vain endeavour,
Guess and guess and guess again.
Life’s a pudding full of plums,
Care’s a canker that benumbs.
Set aside the dull enigma
We shall guess it all too soon.
Failure brings no kind of stigma
Dance we to another tune.
String the lyre and fill the cup
Lest on sorrow we should sup.
Hop and skip to fancy’s fiddle
Hands across and down the middle
Life’s perhaps the only riddle
That we shrink from giving up.
Then take life as it comes!
They didn’t go straight home, but to the Victorian Savoy to watch a performance of Iolanthe. Ruth was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to stand it, that the memory of her own performance would have spoilt the show for her forever. But Patrick sat beside her, and when it came to the moment of Iolanthe’s sacrifice he took her hand, and did not let go until the finale was over. Then she breathed as deeply as corset and bustle would let her.
“I’m no Jessie Bond,” she said. “But I’m glad I’ve played that role, even if it didn’t end right.”
“I don’t know how you did it, when you knew what was going to happen,” Patrick replied.
“I had to,” Ruth said. “I’m not saying it was easy. But the part helped- Iolanthe’s sacrifice has always moved me. When I was a prisoner, I asked myself if I’d do what she did to help someone I loved. I hoped so, but I wasn’t sure what the answer was- until it sort of happened.”
Patrick looked at her, and took her hand again, but said nothing. She smiled at him, wiping a tear away.
“You were a great Lord Chancellor,” she said.
“You were a wonderful Iolanthe,” he replied. “But I can’t say sorry enough for what I did.”
“There’s no need,” she said. “And what you did to destroy the fantoms was brave, if you hadn’t done that she’d have won, and I’d have died. So forget it.” She smiled at him, and he smiled back.
As they were going back to the TTC a strange wheezing noise behind them made them turn back. A young woman opened the door of a blue phone box that Ruth was sure had not been there a moment ago and looked out.
“You’ve got it wrong again,” she said. “We’re too early.” A man emerged beside her. It was hard to say whether he was young or old.
“Naa,” he said. “Look at those light fittings, genuine Victorian.”
“But those people- they’re wearing digital watches. They must be late twentieth century at the earliest.”
“Shh, don’t be rude. Yes, but look at everyone else- 1870’s, give or take a decade.”
“I thought you said we were going to 1920.”
“Well- we’re not far off. Relatively speaking.”
“But what about them?”
“Well, you’re not in the right time either. Who are you to criticise? Come on.” They disappeared inside the phone box again.
“Was that...?” Patrick said, staring. They looked at each other and shrugged.
“I’ll believe anything now,” Ruth said. “Let’s go home.”
The End.
“Try we lifelong we will never
Straighten out life’s tangled skein,
Why should we, in vain endeavour,
Guess and guess and guess again.
Life’s a pudding full of plums,
Care’s a canker that benumbs.
Set aside the dull enigma
We shall guess it all too soon.
Failure brings no kind of stigma
Dance we to another tune.
String the lyre and fill the cup
Lest on sorrow we should sup.
Hop and skip to fancy’s fiddle
Hands across and down the middle
Life’s perhaps the only riddle
That we shrink from giving up.
Then take life as it comes!
W.S Gilbert, The Gondoliers.
They didn’t go straight home, but to the Victorian Savoy to watch a performance of Iolanthe. Ruth was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to stand it, that the memory of her own performance would have spoilt the show for her forever. But Patrick sat beside her, and when it came to the moment of Iolanthe’s sacrifice he took her hand, and did not let go until the finale was over. Then she breathed as deeply as corset and bustle would let her.
“I’m no Jessie Bond,” she said. “But I’m glad I’ve played that role, even if it didn’t end right.”
“I don’t know how you did it, when you knew what was going to happen,” Patrick replied.
“I had to,” Ruth said. “I’m not saying it was easy. But the part helped- Iolanthe’s sacrifice has always moved me. When I was a prisoner, I asked myself if I’d do what she did to help someone I loved. I hoped so, but I wasn’t sure what the answer was- until it sort of happened.”
Patrick looked at her, and took her hand again, but said nothing. She smiled at him, wiping a tear away.
“You were a great Lord Chancellor,” she said.
“You were a wonderful Iolanthe,” he replied. “But I can’t say sorry enough for what I did.”
“There’s no need,” she said. “And what you did to destroy the fantoms was brave, if you hadn’t done that she’d have won, and I’d have died. So forget it.” She smiled at him, and he smiled back.
As they were going back to the TTC a strange wheezing noise behind them made them turn back. A young woman opened the door of a blue phone box that Ruth was sure had not been there a moment ago and looked out.
“You’ve got it wrong again,” she said. “We’re too early.” A man emerged beside her. It was hard to say whether he was young or old.
“Naa,” he said. “Look at those light fittings, genuine Victorian.”
“But those people- they’re wearing digital watches. They must be late twentieth century at the earliest.”
“Shh, don’t be rude. Yes, but look at everyone else- 1870’s, give or take a decade.”
“I thought you said we were going to 1920.”
“Well- we’re not far off. Relatively speaking.”
“But what about them?”
“Well, you’re not in the right time either. Who are you to criticise? Come on.” They disappeared inside the phone box again.
“Was that...?” Patrick said, staring. They looked at each other and shrugged.
“I’ll believe anything now,” Ruth said. “Let’s go home.”
The End.
Wednesday, 30 January 2013
Fantom Epilogue 1
“It wasn’t your fault,” Tom said to Ruth later. She was still
shaking. She had not thought that she could use the sword, even when
the adjudicator had threatened her with the gun, until the very moment
she had done it. She had not meant to kill. “You barely injured her,
just a cut on the wrist. It was the fall into the pit which broke her
neck.”
“She wouldn’t have fallen if it wasn’t for me,” Ruth replied. “I didn’t mean that to happen. But she was threatening me- threatening all of us.”
“It saves someone having to work out what to do with her anyway,” Adam said. “She’d have had to be locked up for the rest of her life.”
Ruth knew he was right. Somehow it seemed better this way, neater, more- satisfactory. A proper end to the story. You didn’t want the villain lurking around somewhere in a prison cell, the constant threat of a sequel while you were trying to rebuild your life. No, the adjudicator had sought to change her story, and she had learned the consequences.
The historian in Ruth knew that it was rare that you could be certain about what had happened in the past. You could never know exactly what had caused what effect on the present or the future. You could change what seemed a small detail, and the consequences to the grand story of life could be massive. The adjudicator had tried to change her story and to change history by removing Thespis. But it had an unexpected consequence. Although in the aftermath of her downfall no scores survived, Ruth and her friends still had the copies they had made when learning the music. There was much interest from the Gilbert & Sullivan community and talk of a production that would make the show, and them, famous. Ruth wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. But perhaps it would be safer if everyone knew the secret of Thespis. Then there would be less chance of anyone being able to take everyone by surprise, as the adjudicator had done.
Patrick turned out to have been very, very lucky. Once medical help arrived they pronounced his injuries serious, but not life-threatening. A few broken bones and a lot of cuts and bruises. It was some time before he could leave hospital.
But there was one more thing to do before they felt their adventure was closed.
“We still haven’t found out why we were given the TTC,” Tom said when they were all inside it and Agnes, for a change, was making the tea. “We go so tied up in everything that we forgot about it. But I’ve been trying to see how it works and I think I’ve found the log of previous trips, and extracted the date it was at immediately before it was left for us.”
“So we can go there and ask why they gave it to us?”
“If we want to,” Tom said, looking round at them.
“I think we should,” Ruth said.
So they did. The door opened onto a laboratory, crammed with machinery they did not understand. The walls were full of doors. Adam opened one.
“It’s just like the TTC,” he said.
“It is a TTC,” said a familiar voice behind them. They turned. Ruth recognised the speaker.
“You’re the one who gave me the instructions to find the TTC all those months ago,” she said. “But who are you? And why?”
“Who? You know who I am.”
“You’re me,” Tom said, “but from the future.”
“Your future. My present. And as for why- well.” He turned away to look at the TTC and they saw that actually he was not so much older than them. But his hair and beard were greying, and there was sadness in his face.
“I don’t really know,” he says. “Because I remember finding it, as you did. Because although what you have been through was painful, I knew it had to happen. I can’t explain without telling you many things you can’t know yet, but when you get to be me you will understand. I’m sorry. I know that’s no explanation. But believe me- you cannot know the future in advance. You have to live it- the good and the bad. And there will be some of both for all of you.
“‘Set aside the dull enigma, we shall guess it all too soon,’” Ruth quoted. “‘Life’s perhaps the only riddle that we shrink from giving up.’”
“‘Take life as it comes.’” the older Tom agreed. “It’s the only way you can live.”
Epilogue part 2...
“She wouldn’t have fallen if it wasn’t for me,” Ruth replied. “I didn’t mean that to happen. But she was threatening me- threatening all of us.”
“It saves someone having to work out what to do with her anyway,” Adam said. “She’d have had to be locked up for the rest of her life.”
Ruth knew he was right. Somehow it seemed better this way, neater, more- satisfactory. A proper end to the story. You didn’t want the villain lurking around somewhere in a prison cell, the constant threat of a sequel while you were trying to rebuild your life. No, the adjudicator had sought to change her story, and she had learned the consequences.
The historian in Ruth knew that it was rare that you could be certain about what had happened in the past. You could never know exactly what had caused what effect on the present or the future. You could change what seemed a small detail, and the consequences to the grand story of life could be massive. The adjudicator had tried to change her story and to change history by removing Thespis. But it had an unexpected consequence. Although in the aftermath of her downfall no scores survived, Ruth and her friends still had the copies they had made when learning the music. There was much interest from the Gilbert & Sullivan community and talk of a production that would make the show, and them, famous. Ruth wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. But perhaps it would be safer if everyone knew the secret of Thespis. Then there would be less chance of anyone being able to take everyone by surprise, as the adjudicator had done.
Patrick turned out to have been very, very lucky. Once medical help arrived they pronounced his injuries serious, but not life-threatening. A few broken bones and a lot of cuts and bruises. It was some time before he could leave hospital.
But there was one more thing to do before they felt their adventure was closed.
“We still haven’t found out why we were given the TTC,” Tom said when they were all inside it and Agnes, for a change, was making the tea. “We go so tied up in everything that we forgot about it. But I’ve been trying to see how it works and I think I’ve found the log of previous trips, and extracted the date it was at immediately before it was left for us.”
“So we can go there and ask why they gave it to us?”
“If we want to,” Tom said, looking round at them.
“I think we should,” Ruth said.
So they did. The door opened onto a laboratory, crammed with machinery they did not understand. The walls were full of doors. Adam opened one.
“It’s just like the TTC,” he said.
“It is a TTC,” said a familiar voice behind them. They turned. Ruth recognised the speaker.
“You’re the one who gave me the instructions to find the TTC all those months ago,” she said. “But who are you? And why?”
“Who? You know who I am.”
“You’re me,” Tom said, “but from the future.”
“Your future. My present. And as for why- well.” He turned away to look at the TTC and they saw that actually he was not so much older than them. But his hair and beard were greying, and there was sadness in his face.
“I don’t really know,” he says. “Because I remember finding it, as you did. Because although what you have been through was painful, I knew it had to happen. I can’t explain without telling you many things you can’t know yet, but when you get to be me you will understand. I’m sorry. I know that’s no explanation. But believe me- you cannot know the future in advance. You have to live it- the good and the bad. And there will be some of both for all of you.
“‘Set aside the dull enigma, we shall guess it all too soon,’” Ruth quoted. “‘Life’s perhaps the only riddle that we shrink from giving up.’”
“‘Take life as it comes.’” the older Tom agreed. “It’s the only way you can live.”
Epilogue part 2...
Tuesday, 29 January 2013
Fantom Chapter 6, part 6.
The adjudicator struck Ruth with the gun. But Patrick looked over
his shoulder and saw the fantom, and with only a moment’s dithering
jumped over the rail into the upper circle. it wasn’t much of a drop
and he was quickly on his feet and running. Looking up, her head
ringing from the adjudicator’s blow, she saw him disappear out of the
door, only to reappear a moment later, followed by the adjudicator’s
human guards. Again he jumped over the rail to the dress circle below.
Managing to dodging past the fantom there, he disappeared through a
door.
She saw him appear in a box, right at the top of the theatre. He slammed the door and tried to wedge something against it, but it would only stop the fantom for a few seconds. He scrambled up onto one of the seats and looked round wildly for an escape route. Ruth, from her vantage point on the stage, saw the other fantom in the gallery just the other side of the wall to the box, waiting, in case he tried to swing round. She saw him look down. It was a sheer drop below him, all the way to the orchestra pit.
Patrick looked behind him. The fantom was already smashing through the door. He climbed onto the padded edge of the box and, balancing there precariously, looked down at the stage.
Ruth was standing again on the wall, looking down, down, into the deep narrow dale behind Peveril Castle. Behind her a fantom was lumbering towards her. She felt the cold breeze and the drizzle in her face as she decided that a world where the adjudicator was in charge was not worth living in. She gulped-
And was back on the stage, looking up at Patrick. The scream had frozen in her throat. Behind him the fantom smashed through the door and reached out towards him. He jumped-
He just caught the chandelier.
The fantoms, blindly following, both jumped after him. They collided in mid-air- Ruth would never forget the sound of clashing stone- and fell, smashing the seats and floor in their ruin.
Patrick swung high above, clinging on for dear life. Ruth remembered the strain in her arms as she had hung from the tree, hearing the fantom crack into a thousand pieces on the valley floor below her. She knew he would not be able to hold on long. She could see him struggling to get a foothold.
And then, as if his wriggling had dislodged something, Ruth saw to her horror the whole thing begin to swing from side to side, it’s arc increasing. As it reached the end of one long swing towards the stage something gave, and it began to fall, carried by the momentum of the swing. Again she wanted to scream, but nothing came out. She just saw Patrick’s terrified face as the chandelier plummeted towards the stage.
She pulled away from the adjudicator as it smashed into a thousand pieces around them. Pushing bits of metal and glass out of the way, she knelt beside Patrick. One leg was at an angle no leg should be at, and he was not moving.
“Patrick?” she said. There was no response, no movement.
He must be dead, Ruth thought heavily. Her heart, that should have been rejoicing at the destruction of the fantoms, was as heavy as lead. Patrick couldn’t have survived that. And- that’s how these stories had to end: with a death. The fantoms didn’t count, they were just minions. It had to be her, or one of us. It’s the only way it could end.
“It should have been me that died here, not you,” she whispered, bending over him and taking his limp hand in hers. “I was her chosen sacrifice, her Iolanthe. I’m sorry, Patrick, so sorry.”
A quiet, hesitant and somehow fuzzy voice spoke from the tangled mass of human and metal wreckage. “The Lord Chancellor loved Iolanthe. I reckon he’d have taken her place, if he could.”
Ruth’s heart leapt. “Patrick!” she said. His eyes opened, and he looked at her.
“You always said I always bounced,” he said. Then his eyes closed again with a little sigh. Ruth’s heart almost stopped. She felt for a pulse, and was relieved to find it. And he was breathing. He was unconscious, but alive!
For now at least.
Ruth heard a the click of shoes behind her, and turned round. The adjudicator was behind her. “All of you,” she said, looking around at the others, frozen where they stood, “and I’m the only one who is armed.”
She aimed her gun past Ruth, at Patrick.
Tom had reappeared on the stage. He tried to move stealthily towards her.
“Before they reach me, I would have time to kill each of you,” the adjudicator said calmly. “So I suggest you keep still.” Tom looked an apology at Ruth.
By Ruth’s feet, covered in debris from the shattered chandelier, was the sword that the Fairy Queen had been going to kill Iolanthe with. She picked it up and moved between the woman and the unconscious boy. Deliberately but shaking just a little, she pointed the sword towards the adjudicator. For a moment the woman looked taken aback, then she laughed.
“Oh, come now,” the woman said. “You know I’ll use this, and I won’t miss. You don’t stand a chance, even if you could use that thing, and you never would.”
“What, never?” Ruth said, trying to keep her voice steady. She met the woman’s eyes.
“I could put a bullet in your brain before you'd even touched me.”
“But it might distract you long enough for it to be the last thing you do.”
“You’d never dare,” the adjudicator hissed. She swung the pistol so that it was aimed directly at Ruth’s head. Almost without thinking, Ruth raised the sword, and it met the pistol with a dull clang of metal meeting metal, and scraped along it until it met resistance. The adjudicator staggered backwards, anger and surprise mingled in her expression. The gun dropped from her bloodstained hand with a cry as her foot found nothing behind it and she fell backwards into the orchestra pit.
Ruth pulled the sword back, dazedly noticing the blood on the blade. She walked, slowly and carefully, towards the edge of the stage and looked down into the pit. It seemed a long way down. Amid the ruin of the fantoms, chandelier and various bits of furniture, the body of the adjudicator lay, a somehow small heap of twisted cloth. It was not moving.
“Hardly ever,” Ruth whispered.
Epilogue
She saw him appear in a box, right at the top of the theatre. He slammed the door and tried to wedge something against it, but it would only stop the fantom for a few seconds. He scrambled up onto one of the seats and looked round wildly for an escape route. Ruth, from her vantage point on the stage, saw the other fantom in the gallery just the other side of the wall to the box, waiting, in case he tried to swing round. She saw him look down. It was a sheer drop below him, all the way to the orchestra pit.
Patrick looked behind him. The fantom was already smashing through the door. He climbed onto the padded edge of the box and, balancing there precariously, looked down at the stage.
Ruth was standing again on the wall, looking down, down, into the deep narrow dale behind Peveril Castle. Behind her a fantom was lumbering towards her. She felt the cold breeze and the drizzle in her face as she decided that a world where the adjudicator was in charge was not worth living in. She gulped-
And was back on the stage, looking up at Patrick. The scream had frozen in her throat. Behind him the fantom smashed through the door and reached out towards him. He jumped-
He just caught the chandelier.
The fantoms, blindly following, both jumped after him. They collided in mid-air- Ruth would never forget the sound of clashing stone- and fell, smashing the seats and floor in their ruin.
Patrick swung high above, clinging on for dear life. Ruth remembered the strain in her arms as she had hung from the tree, hearing the fantom crack into a thousand pieces on the valley floor below her. She knew he would not be able to hold on long. She could see him struggling to get a foothold.
And then, as if his wriggling had dislodged something, Ruth saw to her horror the whole thing begin to swing from side to side, it’s arc increasing. As it reached the end of one long swing towards the stage something gave, and it began to fall, carried by the momentum of the swing. Again she wanted to scream, but nothing came out. She just saw Patrick’s terrified face as the chandelier plummeted towards the stage.
She pulled away from the adjudicator as it smashed into a thousand pieces around them. Pushing bits of metal and glass out of the way, she knelt beside Patrick. One leg was at an angle no leg should be at, and he was not moving.
“Patrick?” she said. There was no response, no movement.
He must be dead, Ruth thought heavily. Her heart, that should have been rejoicing at the destruction of the fantoms, was as heavy as lead. Patrick couldn’t have survived that. And- that’s how these stories had to end: with a death. The fantoms didn’t count, they were just minions. It had to be her, or one of us. It’s the only way it could end.
“It should have been me that died here, not you,” she whispered, bending over him and taking his limp hand in hers. “I was her chosen sacrifice, her Iolanthe. I’m sorry, Patrick, so sorry.”
A quiet, hesitant and somehow fuzzy voice spoke from the tangled mass of human and metal wreckage. “The Lord Chancellor loved Iolanthe. I reckon he’d have taken her place, if he could.”
Ruth’s heart leapt. “Patrick!” she said. His eyes opened, and he looked at her.
“You always said I always bounced,” he said. Then his eyes closed again with a little sigh. Ruth’s heart almost stopped. She felt for a pulse, and was relieved to find it. And he was breathing. He was unconscious, but alive!
For now at least.
Ruth heard a the click of shoes behind her, and turned round. The adjudicator was behind her. “All of you,” she said, looking around at the others, frozen where they stood, “and I’m the only one who is armed.”
She aimed her gun past Ruth, at Patrick.
Tom had reappeared on the stage. He tried to move stealthily towards her.
“Before they reach me, I would have time to kill each of you,” the adjudicator said calmly. “So I suggest you keep still.” Tom looked an apology at Ruth.
By Ruth’s feet, covered in debris from the shattered chandelier, was the sword that the Fairy Queen had been going to kill Iolanthe with. She picked it up and moved between the woman and the unconscious boy. Deliberately but shaking just a little, she pointed the sword towards the adjudicator. For a moment the woman looked taken aback, then she laughed.
“Oh, come now,” the woman said. “You know I’ll use this, and I won’t miss. You don’t stand a chance, even if you could use that thing, and you never would.”
“What, never?” Ruth said, trying to keep her voice steady. She met the woman’s eyes.
“I could put a bullet in your brain before you'd even touched me.”
“But it might distract you long enough for it to be the last thing you do.”
“You’d never dare,” the adjudicator hissed. She swung the pistol so that it was aimed directly at Ruth’s head. Almost without thinking, Ruth raised the sword, and it met the pistol with a dull clang of metal meeting metal, and scraped along it until it met resistance. The adjudicator staggered backwards, anger and surprise mingled in her expression. The gun dropped from her bloodstained hand with a cry as her foot found nothing behind it and she fell backwards into the orchestra pit.
Ruth pulled the sword back, dazedly noticing the blood on the blade. She walked, slowly and carefully, towards the edge of the stage and looked down into the pit. It seemed a long way down. Amid the ruin of the fantoms, chandelier and various bits of furniture, the body of the adjudicator lay, a somehow small heap of twisted cloth. It was not moving.
“Hardly ever,” Ruth whispered.
Epilogue
Monday, 28 January 2013
Fantom Chapter 6, part 5.
They landed back at the opera house, but this time right at the top
among the technical cubbyholes and storage spaces. “The last thing we
want is her getting hold of the TTC,” Tom said, looking out to check the
coast was clear. “Everyone ready?”
“Let’s get it over with,” Ruth said.
Quickly they found some stairs and made their way down. The audience were still milling around foyers and stairwells, getting in the way, but at least it made it easier for them to leave the TTC well behind before they were noticed. They managed to reach the doors to the auditorium before someone spotted them and they were marched up to the stage where the adjudicator was still fuming. Ruth looked around. The cast and audience had gone, and the place seemed deserted apart from the adjudicator, her guards and the fantoms. That was probably just as well.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” the adjudicator said, standing over them as they were driven up onto the stage and pushed roughly to the ground. “And where did you get to? More to the point, where is the TTC?”
“Don’t say anything,” Ruth said to the others.
“Don’t say anything?” the adjudicator mimicked, her rage evident. “Oh you’ll tell me. You’ll tell me in exchange for your deaths when you can’t take any more. After what you did today I will make sure you suffer.” We weakened her authority, Ruth thought, made her look a fool. If we fail now I’ll wish I’d just let her kill me before.
The fantoms closed in. She took a step towards them.
“Now!” Tom yelled. Adam pulled the baton from his sleeve and began to conduct. “Stop him!” the adjudicator shouted, lunging forward, but Ruth and Agnes barred her way. She pushed them away angrily, and Ruth fell, catching her weight on her barely recovered ankle. She gasped in pain, as she struggled to stand up.
The fantoms were under coming Adam’s control. At his direction they formed a ring around the five time travellers. The adjudicator snatched a wand dropped by one of the faries and began to conduct in opposition to him. Several of the fantoms stopped, looking from one conductor to the other, confused.
“You’ve got to stop her,” Adam said urgently. “I don’t know if I can hold them.”
“Order them to attack her,” Agnes said.
“I am! That’s what’s confusing them.”
“Then order them to do something else,” Tom said. “Order them to leave the building, to go and guard something, anything that gets them out of the way. Better that risk her using them against us.”
Adam tried. Slowly, the fantoms turned and began to leave the building. Ruth sighed. Without their help, their chaance of success was even slimmer. And the adjudicator still had human guards, who must be somewhere in the building- probably searching for them. Surely, before long they would return.
Her heart sank. Two more fantoms were emerging from the wings. One looked more flaky than the others- the one she and Patrick had created alone. The other, she was fairly sure, was the surviving original. They were ignoring Adam. They began advancing on the time travellers.
She’s controlled them for longer, Ruth thought, and they know us and hate us- or me, at least. Adam can’t compete with her control over them.
“It’s no good,” she said. “Run!”
“She’s right,” Tom said. “Split up. It’s our only chance- they can’t follow all five of us!”
“I don’t need to,” said the adjudicator in Ruth’s ear. She jumped- and her ankle gave way once more. She tried to run, but the adjudicator had her arm in a grip like a vice. She could not free herself. The others were disappearing up the aisles and through various doors, unaware, but Ruth did not make a sound. There was nothing they could do for her.
“I’ve got unfinished business with you,” the adjudicator said.
Ruth faced her. “Then get it over with,” she said, trying not to show she was afraid. Perhaps if she distracted the woman’s attention her friends might yet be able to escape.
“Oh, it can wait a little longer,” the woman replied. She pulled a gun from somewhere inside the costume that she was still wearing. She pushed Ruth down so she was kneeling in the position- in the exact place- where Iolanthe had waited for her death. I’m even still in the costume, Ruth thought. How stupid we were- I was- to think we could stop her. There’s no hope. What have we done?
Maintaining her painfully tight grip on Ruth’s shoulder, the adjudicator looked up and called, in a sing-song voice that could be heard all over the building. “Come out, come out, wherever you are. I’ve got your friend and you cannot get far.”
To her horror Ruth saw Patrick’s face peeping over the rail round the front of the gallery. And there was Adam, looking out from behind the curtain of a box. She shouted:
“Don’t listen to her! She’ll kill me anyway, and she’ll kill you to if you give yourselves up. Don’t listen!”
There was one of the fantoms, in the dress circle, crushing seats as it searched. Where was the other? She looked back up to the gallery. There it was, framed in the doorway. It had just seen Patrick.
“Patrick! Look out!” she yelled.
The story continues...
“Let’s get it over with,” Ruth said.
Quickly they found some stairs and made their way down. The audience were still milling around foyers and stairwells, getting in the way, but at least it made it easier for them to leave the TTC well behind before they were noticed. They managed to reach the doors to the auditorium before someone spotted them and they were marched up to the stage where the adjudicator was still fuming. Ruth looked around. The cast and audience had gone, and the place seemed deserted apart from the adjudicator, her guards and the fantoms. That was probably just as well.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” the adjudicator said, standing over them as they were driven up onto the stage and pushed roughly to the ground. “And where did you get to? More to the point, where is the TTC?”
“Don’t say anything,” Ruth said to the others.
“Don’t say anything?” the adjudicator mimicked, her rage evident. “Oh you’ll tell me. You’ll tell me in exchange for your deaths when you can’t take any more. After what you did today I will make sure you suffer.” We weakened her authority, Ruth thought, made her look a fool. If we fail now I’ll wish I’d just let her kill me before.
The fantoms closed in. She took a step towards them.
“Now!” Tom yelled. Adam pulled the baton from his sleeve and began to conduct. “Stop him!” the adjudicator shouted, lunging forward, but Ruth and Agnes barred her way. She pushed them away angrily, and Ruth fell, catching her weight on her barely recovered ankle. She gasped in pain, as she struggled to stand up.
The fantoms were under coming Adam’s control. At his direction they formed a ring around the five time travellers. The adjudicator snatched a wand dropped by one of the faries and began to conduct in opposition to him. Several of the fantoms stopped, looking from one conductor to the other, confused.
“You’ve got to stop her,” Adam said urgently. “I don’t know if I can hold them.”
“Order them to attack her,” Agnes said.
“I am! That’s what’s confusing them.”
“Then order them to do something else,” Tom said. “Order them to leave the building, to go and guard something, anything that gets them out of the way. Better that risk her using them against us.”
Adam tried. Slowly, the fantoms turned and began to leave the building. Ruth sighed. Without their help, their chaance of success was even slimmer. And the adjudicator still had human guards, who must be somewhere in the building- probably searching for them. Surely, before long they would return.
Her heart sank. Two more fantoms were emerging from the wings. One looked more flaky than the others- the one she and Patrick had created alone. The other, she was fairly sure, was the surviving original. They were ignoring Adam. They began advancing on the time travellers.
She’s controlled them for longer, Ruth thought, and they know us and hate us- or me, at least. Adam can’t compete with her control over them.
“It’s no good,” she said. “Run!”
“She’s right,” Tom said. “Split up. It’s our only chance- they can’t follow all five of us!”
“I don’t need to,” said the adjudicator in Ruth’s ear. She jumped- and her ankle gave way once more. She tried to run, but the adjudicator had her arm in a grip like a vice. She could not free herself. The others were disappearing up the aisles and through various doors, unaware, but Ruth did not make a sound. There was nothing they could do for her.
“I’ve got unfinished business with you,” the adjudicator said.
Ruth faced her. “Then get it over with,” she said, trying not to show she was afraid. Perhaps if she distracted the woman’s attention her friends might yet be able to escape.
“Oh, it can wait a little longer,” the woman replied. She pulled a gun from somewhere inside the costume that she was still wearing. She pushed Ruth down so she was kneeling in the position- in the exact place- where Iolanthe had waited for her death. I’m even still in the costume, Ruth thought. How stupid we were- I was- to think we could stop her. There’s no hope. What have we done?
Maintaining her painfully tight grip on Ruth’s shoulder, the adjudicator looked up and called, in a sing-song voice that could be heard all over the building. “Come out, come out, wherever you are. I’ve got your friend and you cannot get far.”
To her horror Ruth saw Patrick’s face peeping over the rail round the front of the gallery. And there was Adam, looking out from behind the curtain of a box. She shouted:
“Don’t listen to her! She’ll kill me anyway, and she’ll kill you to if you give yourselves up. Don’t listen!”
There was one of the fantoms, in the dress circle, crushing seats as it searched. Where was the other? She looked back up to the gallery. There it was, framed in the doorway. It had just seen Patrick.
“Patrick! Look out!” she yelled.
The story continues...
Friday, 25 January 2013
Fantom Chapter 6, part 4.
“Hold!”
The adjudicator looked round angrily. “Who said that?” she hissed. Agnes stepped forward.
“I did,” she said loudly, to cover her fear. “That’s how the story goes. You can’t just change it.”
“You little fool,” the woman hissed. “You’ll be next.” She turned back to Ruth.
Or tried to. Her attention elsewhere, she had placed her high-heeled shoe on Iolanthe’s discarded veil. Ruth saw it, and as the adjudicator turned back and raised the sword once more she pulled. With a cry of fury the woman fell backwards. The baton she used to conduct the fantoms fell from her sleeve. Patrick leapt forward and grabbed it, then helped Ruth to her feet.
“Over here!” Tom shouted, running for the wings. The others followed, as the other performers and audience began to wake from shock. They made for where they had left the TTC, but it was guarded by a fantom. Behind them they could hear sounds of pursuit rapidly spproaching.
“It’s no good,” Ruth said desperately. “She’ll never let us escape.”
“Maybe I can distract it while you get past,” Tom said, looking at the fantom. It looked back at him and grunted, but did not move.
“Here,” Patrick said, passing the baton he had picked up to Adam. “You know how to conduct, can you get them to obey you?”
Adam waved it experimentally. The fantom’s gaze shifted to him.
“They’re right behind us!” Agnes said.
Adam raised his arms and began to beat time, strongly and confidently. The fantom looked puzzled (as much as its’ stony face could display any emotion) and began, slowly to move to the side.
“You’ve done it!” Agnes shouted.
“That might slow them up,” Adam said, as the creature moved off in the direction of their pursuers.
“Come on,” Tom said, “We’ve got to get to the TTC.”
The time capsule’s doors slammed behind them and Tom and Patrick pushed the bars into place. Adam sat down at the keyboard.
“When to?” he said.
“Anywhen!” Agnes said. “Anywhere but here.”
Tom was at the other keyboard, typing hurriedly. “Go!” he said.
The familiar shaking began. Ruth sank down on a seat and leant her head against the wall. It had all happened so quickly. She was relieved to have escaped, but the pent up tension hadn’t yet earthed itself...
“Tea?” Patrick asked, filling the kettle.
That did it. Ruth started to laugh, and then found tears rolling down her cheeks. It was the sheer normality of it that got her. Ten minutes ago she had been waiting for her death in front of hundreds of people, and now Patrick was making her tea, as if the last few months had never happened.
“Are you ok?” Agnes asked, puzzled. Ruth nodded, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“Sorry,” she said. Patrick sat down next to her. “It’s all right,” he said. “She didn’t hurt you?”
“No,” Ruth replied. “But if we ever meet her again she’ll kill us all, I know it. We’ve made her look a fool.”
“Maybe we’ve shown people they can defeat her too,” Adam said.
“I don’t think it’s as simple as that,” Ruth said.
They landed. “Where are we?” Agnes asked.
“Back in York,” Tom said. “Before all this happened- the day after we left for Buxton.”
They stepped out of the TTC into a deserted, grimy street. Something was wrong.
“Look,” Tom said, pointing at a big poster on the end of a row of houses. It showed a giant picture of the adjudicator, smiling triumphantly, with a caption saying: “Work and obedience will save our nation! It is your patriotic duty to report all skivers, paracites and deviants to the appropriate authorities.”
Their hearts sank. “What’s happened?” Adam asked. Ruth shiverred. Looking down, she realised she was still wearing her the thin dress of her Iolanthe costume, complete with wings. The others were still in costume too.
Agnes had got her phone out and was looking at news websites. “She’s running the country. Everything’s changed. But it doesn’t make sense.”
Patrick pointed to the date in the corner of the screen. It was three years in their future.
“Look her up on wikipedia, if it still exists,” Adam said. “Maybe it’ll tell us how she came to power.”
It did. But it wasn’t cheerful reading. Depressed and cold they went back into the TTC.
Tom looked at the screen.
“I got the date wrong,” he said. “Must have been because I was in a hurry.
“If that’s the future with her in charge, I don’t think I want to live there,” Adam said.
“Don’t worry,” Patrick said bitterly. “I don’t think she’d let us live for very long.”
“What are we going to do?” Tom asked. “We can’t go back to our time or the future without coming within her reach. Where can we go?”
Patrick made more tea. The other were almost silent, someone occassionally putting foward a suggestion that someone else would quickly point out a problem with before silence returned. Ruth sat in a corner, still shivering a little. After a while (and two cups of tea) she looked up.
“We’ve got to stop her,” she said quietly.
“Us?” Tom said.
“Yes. It was our time travel that got us into this mess, our wanting to change history just a little bit allowed her to change it a lot.”
“All we did was bring a score back. How were we supposed to know what that would do?”
“We couldn’t. But it didn’t even work- our wanting to save Thespis actually resulted in it being destroyed.”
“But they were already destroyed before we ever travelled back in time,” Adam objected. “It’s not our fault.”
“But if we hadn’t gone back in time she would never have had her chance to come to power,” Patrick said. “Ruth’s right there.”
“We started it, so we’ve got to stop her.” Ruth said somberly. “Whatever the cost to ourselves.”
“But- can we? I mean, we know what’s going to happen in the future. If we go back and get rid of her, isn’t that changing history too?”
“That’s why we can't use time travel to defeat her. We've got to do it in the present- our present. The past isn’t ours to change, but the future- we change the future just by living in the present.” Ruth stood up and began to type the date into the computer.
“Now?” Agnes asked.
“Will there be a better time?” Ruth turned to look at them all. “If we're weak enough to tarry- we might loose our nerve. Besides, where else can we go?”
“Can’t we at least get some weapons or something? She’ll be armed,” Adam said.
“Would you use them?” Ruth asked. “I don't think I could.”
“Then what are we going to do?” Tom said. “Adam’s right, it’s no use just going straight back to when we left. We need a plan.”
“We’ve got to use her own weapons against her,” Ruth said. She picked up the baton.
The story continues...
The adjudicator looked round angrily. “Who said that?” she hissed. Agnes stepped forward.
“I did,” she said loudly, to cover her fear. “That’s how the story goes. You can’t just change it.”
“You little fool,” the woman hissed. “You’ll be next.” She turned back to Ruth.
Or tried to. Her attention elsewhere, she had placed her high-heeled shoe on Iolanthe’s discarded veil. Ruth saw it, and as the adjudicator turned back and raised the sword once more she pulled. With a cry of fury the woman fell backwards. The baton she used to conduct the fantoms fell from her sleeve. Patrick leapt forward and grabbed it, then helped Ruth to her feet.
“Over here!” Tom shouted, running for the wings. The others followed, as the other performers and audience began to wake from shock. They made for where they had left the TTC, but it was guarded by a fantom. Behind them they could hear sounds of pursuit rapidly spproaching.
“It’s no good,” Ruth said desperately. “She’ll never let us escape.”
“Maybe I can distract it while you get past,” Tom said, looking at the fantom. It looked back at him and grunted, but did not move.
“Here,” Patrick said, passing the baton he had picked up to Adam. “You know how to conduct, can you get them to obey you?”
Adam waved it experimentally. The fantom’s gaze shifted to him.
“They’re right behind us!” Agnes said.
Adam raised his arms and began to beat time, strongly and confidently. The fantom looked puzzled (as much as its’ stony face could display any emotion) and began, slowly to move to the side.
“You’ve done it!” Agnes shouted.
“That might slow them up,” Adam said, as the creature moved off in the direction of their pursuers.
“Come on,” Tom said, “We’ve got to get to the TTC.”
The time capsule’s doors slammed behind them and Tom and Patrick pushed the bars into place. Adam sat down at the keyboard.
“When to?” he said.
“Anywhen!” Agnes said. “Anywhere but here.”
Tom was at the other keyboard, typing hurriedly. “Go!” he said.
The familiar shaking began. Ruth sank down on a seat and leant her head against the wall. It had all happened so quickly. She was relieved to have escaped, but the pent up tension hadn’t yet earthed itself...
“Tea?” Patrick asked, filling the kettle.
That did it. Ruth started to laugh, and then found tears rolling down her cheeks. It was the sheer normality of it that got her. Ten minutes ago she had been waiting for her death in front of hundreds of people, and now Patrick was making her tea, as if the last few months had never happened.
“Are you ok?” Agnes asked, puzzled. Ruth nodded, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“Sorry,” she said. Patrick sat down next to her. “It’s all right,” he said. “She didn’t hurt you?”
“No,” Ruth replied. “But if we ever meet her again she’ll kill us all, I know it. We’ve made her look a fool.”
“Maybe we’ve shown people they can defeat her too,” Adam said.
“I don’t think it’s as simple as that,” Ruth said.
They landed. “Where are we?” Agnes asked.
“Back in York,” Tom said. “Before all this happened- the day after we left for Buxton.”
They stepped out of the TTC into a deserted, grimy street. Something was wrong.
“Look,” Tom said, pointing at a big poster on the end of a row of houses. It showed a giant picture of the adjudicator, smiling triumphantly, with a caption saying: “Work and obedience will save our nation! It is your patriotic duty to report all skivers, paracites and deviants to the appropriate authorities.”
Their hearts sank. “What’s happened?” Adam asked. Ruth shiverred. Looking down, she realised she was still wearing her the thin dress of her Iolanthe costume, complete with wings. The others were still in costume too.
Agnes had got her phone out and was looking at news websites. “She’s running the country. Everything’s changed. But it doesn’t make sense.”
Patrick pointed to the date in the corner of the screen. It was three years in their future.
“Look her up on wikipedia, if it still exists,” Adam said. “Maybe it’ll tell us how she came to power.”
It did. But it wasn’t cheerful reading. Depressed and cold they went back into the TTC.
Tom looked at the screen.
“I got the date wrong,” he said. “Must have been because I was in a hurry.
“If that’s the future with her in charge, I don’t think I want to live there,” Adam said.
“Don’t worry,” Patrick said bitterly. “I don’t think she’d let us live for very long.”
“What are we going to do?” Tom asked. “We can’t go back to our time or the future without coming within her reach. Where can we go?”
Patrick made more tea. The other were almost silent, someone occassionally putting foward a suggestion that someone else would quickly point out a problem with before silence returned. Ruth sat in a corner, still shivering a little. After a while (and two cups of tea) she looked up.
“We’ve got to stop her,” she said quietly.
“Us?” Tom said.
“Yes. It was our time travel that got us into this mess, our wanting to change history just a little bit allowed her to change it a lot.”
“All we did was bring a score back. How were we supposed to know what that would do?”
“We couldn’t. But it didn’t even work- our wanting to save Thespis actually resulted in it being destroyed.”
“But they were already destroyed before we ever travelled back in time,” Adam objected. “It’s not our fault.”
“But if we hadn’t gone back in time she would never have had her chance to come to power,” Patrick said. “Ruth’s right there.”
“We started it, so we’ve got to stop her.” Ruth said somberly. “Whatever the cost to ourselves.”
“But- can we? I mean, we know what’s going to happen in the future. If we go back and get rid of her, isn’t that changing history too?”
“That’s why we can't use time travel to defeat her. We've got to do it in the present- our present. The past isn’t ours to change, but the future- we change the future just by living in the present.” Ruth stood up and began to type the date into the computer.
“Now?” Agnes asked.
“Will there be a better time?” Ruth turned to look at them all. “If we're weak enough to tarry- we might loose our nerve. Besides, where else can we go?”
“Can’t we at least get some weapons or something? She’ll be armed,” Adam said.
“Would you use them?” Ruth asked. “I don't think I could.”
“Then what are we going to do?” Tom said. “Adam’s right, it’s no use just going straight back to when we left. We need a plan.”
“We’ve got to use her own weapons against her,” Ruth said. She picked up the baton.
The story continues...
Thursday, 24 January 2013
Fantom Chapter 6, part 3.
The first act passed quickly. Somehow, she surprised herself by how well it was going. Perhaps because
she was thinking of other things than singing. In the interval she found Patrick standing beside her.
“Are you ok?” he asked awkwardly. She tried to smile.
“Bit scared,” she said. “But I’ll be fine.”
“You’re doing really well,” he said. Neither of them were on stage for the start of the second act, but then he went on for his big patter song and trio. Ruth stood in the wings, watching. The Fantoms lurked nearby, covering the exits from backstage. She tried to distract herself by concentrating on the performance. The Nightmare song was not an easy one, and Patrick did it well. The trio after it was one of the highlights of the show.
When Patrick came off after the trio, all glowng with exhilleration, she kept away. In a minute she would go on for the last time, her big moment, and soon that would be the end. She did not want to impose her terror on him. So she stayed sadly in the shadows.
But he came over to her and put his arms round her and hugged her tightly. She had to fight back tears again. There was only a brief bit of dialogue and then a duet before she had to go on for the last time, and he would soon follow her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. He squeezed her hand.
“No need,” he said.
“I hope she lets you go,” she said. “Good luck.” On stage, the duet was into its’ second verse. She looked round and saw the whole cast were standing in the wings, waiting, watching. She took a step back from Patrick, and wiped her eyes carefully. Thankfully her veil would hide the signs of her emotional breakdown.
“Break a leg,” he said.
The duet ended. Polite applause from the audience, and she stepped out onto stage. She tried to act naturally, but it had never been something she was good at. Thankfully there were only a few lines of dialogue before Patrick entered, and for most of them she was supposed to be anxious and afraid, which would hopefully cover her woodenness. She wrapped herself in her veil and prepared to plead with him for the love of her character’s son.
“My lord! A suppliant at thy feet I kneel,
Oh, listen to a mother’s fond appeal,
Hear me tonight! I come in urgent need.
Tis for my son, young Strephon, that I plead.
"He loves! If in the bygone years thine eyes have ever shed
Tears, bitter unavailing tears, for one untimely dead.
If, in the eventide of life, sad thoughts of her arise,
Then let the memory of thy wife
Plead for my boy- he dies!"
She had wanted to play Iolanthe almost from the moment she had seen her first production of the show. She couldn't quite explain why. For some reason it appealed to her more than any of the soprano leads, who had so little individuality that they could often have been swapped without other characters noticing. Mabel for Yum Yum, Josephine for Gianetta- would their respective tenors even care? And although she generally preferred the altos, the Duchesses and Dames, she knew she didn't have the ability or experience to carry them off. Iolanthe had been what she had secretly hoped she might, one day, aspire to do. And yet there were always people around who were better than her. It was a bitter joke that her wish should be granted like this.
He dies! If fondly laid aside in some old cabinet
Memorial of thy long-dead bride lie, dearly treasured yet.
Then let that hallowed bridal dress- her little dainty gloves-
Her withered flowers- her faded tress-
Plead for my boy- he loves.
She knelt, a gauzy veil wrapped around her head but still perfectly able to see, although she did not look out at the audience. She was glad that the emotional nature of the song made the tremor in her voice appropriate. She had thrown herself into the role, truly thought herself into the person of Iolanthe as a way of distracting herself from thinking about what was going to happen. If she were to die, she would give the best performance she could first, and try not to show how she really felt.
"It may not be, for so the fates decide!
Learn thou that Phyllis is my promised bride."
Patrick was good as the Lord Chancellor. She didn't have time to think about it on stage, but she knew it was true. She could see why the woman had given him that part- to make him feel that he bore some responsibility for her death, to fulfil her devil’s bargain with him by making him take part in this hideous horror show. And yet- she was glad he was there.
"Thy bride! No no!"
"It shall be so. Those who would separate us, woe betide!"
Now for it. But as she stood before him, head bowed, she was not Ruth, dying because a bloodthirsty dictator wanted some entertainment. She was Iolanthe, sacrificing her life for love. Somehow that made it easier to bear.
"Thy doom my lips have spoken,
I plead in vain.
A vow already broken
I break again.
For him, for her, for thee
I yield my life,
Behold, it may not be
I am thy wife!"
She had cried the first time she saw this scene performed, the first time she heard those words. The fairies' offstage warnings sounded truly sinister in her ears, as she stood now beside her Lord Chancellor, her veil torn loose, awaiting her doom. Patrick took her hands in his.
“Iolanthe! Thou livest!”
There was so much she had wanted to say, and so little she had ever been able to. She met his eyes and a few tears began to roll down her cheeks as she sang her last line, holding her voice as steady as she could.
“Aye, I live. Now let me die!”
She tried to keep calm as she turned from Patrick to face the queen. As the adjudicator strode onto the stage in the guise of the fairy queen she faced her, struggling to be Iolanthe still and not Ruth. Now for the hardest piece of acting she had ever had to do- to act like she was not afraid.
"Once again thy vows are broken,
Thou thyself thy doom has spoken.
Bow thy head to destiny!
Death thy doom and thou shalt die."
From the sheath at her side the adjudicator drew a sword. It glinted as the stage lights caught it. Ruth knelt before her. She bowed her head, beyond caring whether anyone saw that she was shaking with fear. Her hands clasped tightly in front of her, she waited for the adjudicator to strike.
The story continues...
she was thinking of other things than singing. In the interval she found Patrick standing beside her.
“Are you ok?” he asked awkwardly. She tried to smile.
“Bit scared,” she said. “But I’ll be fine.”
“You’re doing really well,” he said. Neither of them were on stage for the start of the second act, but then he went on for his big patter song and trio. Ruth stood in the wings, watching. The Fantoms lurked nearby, covering the exits from backstage. She tried to distract herself by concentrating on the performance. The Nightmare song was not an easy one, and Patrick did it well. The trio after it was one of the highlights of the show.
When Patrick came off after the trio, all glowng with exhilleration, she kept away. In a minute she would go on for the last time, her big moment, and soon that would be the end. She did not want to impose her terror on him. So she stayed sadly in the shadows.
But he came over to her and put his arms round her and hugged her tightly. She had to fight back tears again. There was only a brief bit of dialogue and then a duet before she had to go on for the last time, and he would soon follow her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. He squeezed her hand.
“No need,” he said.
“I hope she lets you go,” she said. “Good luck.” On stage, the duet was into its’ second verse. She looked round and saw the whole cast were standing in the wings, waiting, watching. She took a step back from Patrick, and wiped her eyes carefully. Thankfully her veil would hide the signs of her emotional breakdown.
“Break a leg,” he said.
The duet ended. Polite applause from the audience, and she stepped out onto stage. She tried to act naturally, but it had never been something she was good at. Thankfully there were only a few lines of dialogue before Patrick entered, and for most of them she was supposed to be anxious and afraid, which would hopefully cover her woodenness. She wrapped herself in her veil and prepared to plead with him for the love of her character’s son.
“My lord! A suppliant at thy feet I kneel,
Oh, listen to a mother’s fond appeal,
Hear me tonight! I come in urgent need.
Tis for my son, young Strephon, that I plead.
"He loves! If in the bygone years thine eyes have ever shed
Tears, bitter unavailing tears, for one untimely dead.
If, in the eventide of life, sad thoughts of her arise,
Then let the memory of thy wife
Plead for my boy- he dies!"
She had wanted to play Iolanthe almost from the moment she had seen her first production of the show. She couldn't quite explain why. For some reason it appealed to her more than any of the soprano leads, who had so little individuality that they could often have been swapped without other characters noticing. Mabel for Yum Yum, Josephine for Gianetta- would their respective tenors even care? And although she generally preferred the altos, the Duchesses and Dames, she knew she didn't have the ability or experience to carry them off. Iolanthe had been what she had secretly hoped she might, one day, aspire to do. And yet there were always people around who were better than her. It was a bitter joke that her wish should be granted like this.
He dies! If fondly laid aside in some old cabinet
Memorial of thy long-dead bride lie, dearly treasured yet.
Then let that hallowed bridal dress- her little dainty gloves-
Her withered flowers- her faded tress-
Plead for my boy- he loves.
She knelt, a gauzy veil wrapped around her head but still perfectly able to see, although she did not look out at the audience. She was glad that the emotional nature of the song made the tremor in her voice appropriate. She had thrown herself into the role, truly thought herself into the person of Iolanthe as a way of distracting herself from thinking about what was going to happen. If she were to die, she would give the best performance she could first, and try not to show how she really felt.
"It may not be, for so the fates decide!
Learn thou that Phyllis is my promised bride."
Patrick was good as the Lord Chancellor. She didn't have time to think about it on stage, but she knew it was true. She could see why the woman had given him that part- to make him feel that he bore some responsibility for her death, to fulfil her devil’s bargain with him by making him take part in this hideous horror show. And yet- she was glad he was there.
"Thy bride! No no!"
"It shall be so. Those who would separate us, woe betide!"
Now for it. But as she stood before him, head bowed, she was not Ruth, dying because a bloodthirsty dictator wanted some entertainment. She was Iolanthe, sacrificing her life for love. Somehow that made it easier to bear.
"Thy doom my lips have spoken,
I plead in vain.
A vow already broken
I break again.
For him, for her, for thee
I yield my life,
Behold, it may not be
I am thy wife!"
She had cried the first time she saw this scene performed, the first time she heard those words. The fairies' offstage warnings sounded truly sinister in her ears, as she stood now beside her Lord Chancellor, her veil torn loose, awaiting her doom. Patrick took her hands in his.
“Iolanthe! Thou livest!”
There was so much she had wanted to say, and so little she had ever been able to. She met his eyes and a few tears began to roll down her cheeks as she sang her last line, holding her voice as steady as she could.
“Aye, I live. Now let me die!”
She tried to keep calm as she turned from Patrick to face the queen. As the adjudicator strode onto the stage in the guise of the fairy queen she faced her, struggling to be Iolanthe still and not Ruth. Now for the hardest piece of acting she had ever had to do- to act like she was not afraid.
"Once again thy vows are broken,
Thou thyself thy doom has spoken.
Bow thy head to destiny!
Death thy doom and thou shalt die."
From the sheath at her side the adjudicator drew a sword. It glinted as the stage lights caught it. Ruth knelt before her. She bowed her head, beyond caring whether anyone saw that she was shaking with fear. Her hands clasped tightly in front of her, she waited for the adjudicator to strike.
The story continues...
Wednesday, 23 January 2013
Fantom Chapter 6, part 2.
The lights dimmed as the Fairy Queen drew back her trident. The
music rose to a crecendo. Ruth, cowering and half blinded by the
spotlight, saw that the prongs were needle-sharp. She saw the woman
prepare to strike, and closed her eyes. She couldn’t watch as-
The audience gasped. She cried out, and felt herself falling backwards. Then she felt arms around her, Patrick’s arms, lowering her to the stage. He knelt, cradling her in his arms. She felt a tear fall on her cheek.
“It’s ok,” she said, opening her eyes and trying to smile at him. He bent his head low over hers. She whispered to him, as her eyes closed again. His arms tightened around her and another tear fell. He couldn’t speak. Dimly she heard the happy music of the finale start up, as if in another world. It seemed so remote, and fading...
Ruth awoke with a start and sat up. The room was lit by the dim light of early morning. The others slept- she could hear Agnes snoring softly. She lay down again and covered her face with her hands as she wept and shivered.
Today was the day. The adjudicator’s special performance of Iolanthe was to take place in the Buxton opera house, with Ruth playing the title role. The adjudicator herself was to play the Fairy Queen. The prisoners had wondered about that. They knew she had formerly been an actress but had thought she had long retired. But when they had read the revised script as far as the finale they realised why.
“But she can’t do that,” Agnes had said. They had all turned and stared at Ruth. “She just can’t!”
Ruth had looked at the stage directions again. It was quite clear.
“She can,” she had said quietly. “She can do whatever she likes with us. No one can object.”
“But I thought she was just trying to scare us when she talked about- about this!”
Ruth shook her head. “It seems not.” She read the page again, trying to take it in. The adjudicator was going to kill her, right there, on stage.
“But it’s just such a- a preposterous idea,” Adam protested.
“The Romans did it,” Ruth replied in a detatched voice. “They used criminals. It’s not as far fetched as it sounds.”
“But you- you can’t let her do this,” Patrick said.
“How can I stop her?” Ruth said angrily. “There’s nothing any of us can do,” she said. “I as good as volunteered. Either I accept it and- and try to get through it somehow without breaking down, or I scream and protest and die anyway. Besides,” she added more calmly. “What do I have to loose?”
And so they had rehearsed, and Ruth had done her very best to learn the part perfectly. It was something to do, to take her mind off what was going to happen just before the finale. Patrick was to play the Lord Chancellor, the others were in the chorus. But they seemed somehow awkward, as if they were shy of talking to her in case they said something to upset her, or perhaps guilty. Even when they did speak the subject was avoided. So she had been lonely and silent when she most felt the need to talk, and to be reassured.
All of this came back to her as she lay there in the early morning, sobbing silently. She was frightened and felt very alone.
There was a light touch on her arm, and she looked up. Patrick had been lying next to her, asleep or so she had thought. Now he reached out to her, taking her hand, his expression all concern.
“Can I do anything?” he whispered. She shook her head.
“It’s just a dream,” she whispered back. “I’ve had it every night- each night it ends with her killing me in a different way. But this was the worst.” She sat up, and he put an arm around her and took her hand with his free one. “I don’t know whether I can get through this,” she said. “I’ll break down, forget my words, beg and scream for her mercy and die without a shred of dignity. I never thought that would matter, but now...it does.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It should be me that’s going through this, not you.”
“There’s no ‘should’ about it,” Ruth said. “It shouldn’t be happening to any of us.”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “It’s all my fault this is happening.”
“Anything you’ve done against me I’ve long forgiven,” she said, leaning her head against his. “Remember that. Please, you’ve been such a friend to me, can I ask you one last thing? Please stay with me, as much as you can, until it’s over? I don’t even know how she’s going to do it, and if it takes a long time I...any courage I’ve got won’t last. If you can, please don’t leave me alone now. I’m more scared than I thought I would be...”
“Of course I will,” he replied.
That day was the worst of their captivity. The performance was not till the evening, and Ruth did not know how she got through the day. At last, the door was unlocked and the adjudicator stood there, the fantoms looming behind her.
“So,” she said, looking down at Ruth. “Did you think someone would come at the last moment and rescue you in the nick of time? This isn't one of your stories. Nothing’s going to save you.”
“I know,” Ruth said quietly. During the long days of imprisonment she had tried to dream new stories, new adventures. But she thought of the contrast between herself and her character in her stories and knew all too well that they were not real life.
They took the TTC to the theatre. None of them were sure why, the adjudicator just seemed to enjoy showing it off. They changed into costumes and prepared for the show, Ruth’s heart racing with all kinds of fear.
She stood, waiting, by the door to the stage. She could hear the audience on the other side of the curtain, and wondered if they knew. Were they here to enjoy a the spectacle? Had they been forced to come? Or did they simply not know what was going to happen?
Somewhere in the depths of the building, a bell rang. It was time.
The story continues...
The audience gasped. She cried out, and felt herself falling backwards. Then she felt arms around her, Patrick’s arms, lowering her to the stage. He knelt, cradling her in his arms. She felt a tear fall on her cheek.
“It’s ok,” she said, opening her eyes and trying to smile at him. He bent his head low over hers. She whispered to him, as her eyes closed again. His arms tightened around her and another tear fell. He couldn’t speak. Dimly she heard the happy music of the finale start up, as if in another world. It seemed so remote, and fading...
Ruth awoke with a start and sat up. The room was lit by the dim light of early morning. The others slept- she could hear Agnes snoring softly. She lay down again and covered her face with her hands as she wept and shivered.
Today was the day. The adjudicator’s special performance of Iolanthe was to take place in the Buxton opera house, with Ruth playing the title role. The adjudicator herself was to play the Fairy Queen. The prisoners had wondered about that. They knew she had formerly been an actress but had thought she had long retired. But when they had read the revised script as far as the finale they realised why.
“But she can’t do that,” Agnes had said. They had all turned and stared at Ruth. “She just can’t!”
Ruth had looked at the stage directions again. It was quite clear.
“She can,” she had said quietly. “She can do whatever she likes with us. No one can object.”
“But I thought she was just trying to scare us when she talked about- about this!”
Ruth shook her head. “It seems not.” She read the page again, trying to take it in. The adjudicator was going to kill her, right there, on stage.
“But it’s just such a- a preposterous idea,” Adam protested.
“The Romans did it,” Ruth replied in a detatched voice. “They used criminals. It’s not as far fetched as it sounds.”
“But you- you can’t let her do this,” Patrick said.
“How can I stop her?” Ruth said angrily. “There’s nothing any of us can do,” she said. “I as good as volunteered. Either I accept it and- and try to get through it somehow without breaking down, or I scream and protest and die anyway. Besides,” she added more calmly. “What do I have to loose?”
And so they had rehearsed, and Ruth had done her very best to learn the part perfectly. It was something to do, to take her mind off what was going to happen just before the finale. Patrick was to play the Lord Chancellor, the others were in the chorus. But they seemed somehow awkward, as if they were shy of talking to her in case they said something to upset her, or perhaps guilty. Even when they did speak the subject was avoided. So she had been lonely and silent when she most felt the need to talk, and to be reassured.
All of this came back to her as she lay there in the early morning, sobbing silently. She was frightened and felt very alone.
There was a light touch on her arm, and she looked up. Patrick had been lying next to her, asleep or so she had thought. Now he reached out to her, taking her hand, his expression all concern.
“Can I do anything?” he whispered. She shook her head.
“It’s just a dream,” she whispered back. “I’ve had it every night- each night it ends with her killing me in a different way. But this was the worst.” She sat up, and he put an arm around her and took her hand with his free one. “I don’t know whether I can get through this,” she said. “I’ll break down, forget my words, beg and scream for her mercy and die without a shred of dignity. I never thought that would matter, but now...it does.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It should be me that’s going through this, not you.”
“There’s no ‘should’ about it,” Ruth said. “It shouldn’t be happening to any of us.”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “It’s all my fault this is happening.”
“Anything you’ve done against me I’ve long forgiven,” she said, leaning her head against his. “Remember that. Please, you’ve been such a friend to me, can I ask you one last thing? Please stay with me, as much as you can, until it’s over? I don’t even know how she’s going to do it, and if it takes a long time I...any courage I’ve got won’t last. If you can, please don’t leave me alone now. I’m more scared than I thought I would be...”
“Of course I will,” he replied.
That day was the worst of their captivity. The performance was not till the evening, and Ruth did not know how she got through the day. At last, the door was unlocked and the adjudicator stood there, the fantoms looming behind her.
“So,” she said, looking down at Ruth. “Did you think someone would come at the last moment and rescue you in the nick of time? This isn't one of your stories. Nothing’s going to save you.”
“I know,” Ruth said quietly. During the long days of imprisonment she had tried to dream new stories, new adventures. But she thought of the contrast between herself and her character in her stories and knew all too well that they were not real life.
They took the TTC to the theatre. None of them were sure why, the adjudicator just seemed to enjoy showing it off. They changed into costumes and prepared for the show, Ruth’s heart racing with all kinds of fear.
She stood, waiting, by the door to the stage. She could hear the audience on the other side of the curtain, and wondered if they knew. Were they here to enjoy a the spectacle? Had they been forced to come? Or did they simply not know what was going to happen?
Somewhere in the depths of the building, a bell rang. It was time.
The story continues...
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